


Will It Milk?

by ficfucker



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: (only once though), Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Biting, First Time, Frottage, Grinding, M/M, Male Lactation, Mutual Masturbation, fake science is in here, like you know old time sci-fi?, that's how it is in here, where things happen and folks are like oh alright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: link finds out a little secret about rhettthings escalate from there





	Will It Milk?

Rhett figures it was only a matter of time before something like this happened to him.

 

He had gone his whole life lucking out whenever his cycle came, so it made sense that one day he would wake up during it and things would be a bit… _more_ than usual and his secret would be out.

 

Still, even with his foresight and own sense of impending karma, Rhett is a bundle of nerves that morning. He unpacks his binder from some far region of his dresser and purposefully picks a sweater that is less form fitting than the rest of his wardrobe.  

 

He doubts anyone will notice. If they do, he really doubts they’ll ask anything. Regardless, he worries that Link or crew will see a shoulder strap poking out and mention it.

 

Rhett knows the warnings against using ace bandages. He’s read all the tutorials and no-no lists and seen the shock-photos that went with it, but he considers this an emergency. He wraps them loosely around his top, making sure to inhale and exhale in exaggerated breathes to ensure they’re not too tight, then pulls on his gray binder.

 

He’s styling his hair when his phone buzzes with a text from Link on the edge of the sink.

 

 **_link_ ** _: be there in five i picked up muffins_

 

Rhett’s fingers are too greasy to punch out a reply so he just reads it and gets back to his routine, trying his best to keep his mind from wandering too far from the norm.

 

He washes up a second time. He grabs his phone, checks his fly, and, headed out towards the front door, casually adjusts his binder through his shirt.

 

Link is in the drive, on his phone, from what Rhett can see, so he jogs over and gets in, saying, “Sorry, man, ya know how hair is in the mornin’.”

 

Link beams at him. “Oh, I hear ya, brother. Muffins are on the floor back there, help yaself to one.”

 

Rhett reaches around the seat and pulls the white paper bag into his lap. The motion tightens his chest a little and the urge to groan rises immediately, but he swallows it down by forcing muffin into his mouth.

 

It’s going to be a long day.

 

It’s going to be a long week.

 

* * *

  


“Okay, listen, I genuinely think celery won’t be _that_ baaad.”

 

Link looks down at the little cup of yogurt in front of him and cocks an eyebrow before glancing back at Rhett. “Yeah, b-but, I don’t think it’ll be _great_ , either.”

 

“Well, buddyroll, that _is_ the name of the game.”

 

Today, they are filming Will It Yogurt, along with a a Good Mythical More following it on which uncommon toppings are best on regular vanilla yogurt. Rhett is handling things well so far. Him and Link got to work on time and Link had gotten him a tea, prepared just the way he likes, and no one had said anything about Rhett looking flustered nor had anyone commented about wardrobe changes.

 

They spoon a decent portion of yogurt into their mouths and both grimace into the main camera.

 

Around the yogurt, Link mutters, “It's _bitter…_ ”

 

“Def-Definitely bitter. Hoo boy.” Rhett shakes his head and smacks his lips together a few times. “But, hey, yogurt can… can be bitter. I don't think bitter means- equals non-yogurt.”

 

Link wrinkles his nose. “I would say yogurt is usually more _tart_ than bitter.” He pokes at the yogurt dish with his spoon. “But, despite the taste, I think it _is_ yogurt.”

 

“I mean, yeah, someone out there might like it. And hey, both of us got it down easy.”

 

Link kind of smiles and pushes his glasses further up on his nose. “Okay, so is that our verdict? It yogurts, but not for us?”

 

“Will It Yogurt?”

 

“Yes!” Rhett announces and Link shouts: “Why not!”

 

“Alright, what we got on deck next?” Rhett asks. His chest feels heavy and he adjusts in his chair, leaning over the desk a bit in a covert stretch. He wants to keep talking to distract himself.

 

Link squints at their cues and reads, “‘Turkey Breast Yogurt’ is in line. Kind of like cranberry sauce.”

 

Chase passes Rhett two more bowls of yogurt. “Like cranberry sauce?”

 

“Yeah, like, ya got yer cranberry sauce on Thanksgiving and yogurt is kind of like a sauce. Just turn the whole dang meal to mush, man.”

 

“Mush my turkey.”

 

“Mush my turkey,” Link repeats in agreement.

 

“Unless this is nasty. It ain't lookin’ so great so far.” Rhett leans down to get eye level with the bowl and raises a spoonful up to show off the color and consistency more. The angle relieves a little pressure off his lower back.

 

“Smells like turkey, though. Maybe a little more… sour? Uh, this smells like. Like a milky turkey.”

 

Rhett wishes Link wouldn't say milky. “Well, let's explore this turkey mush, then.”

 

Rhett sits up and they dink and sink their spoons.

 

“Alright…,” Link says softly. “That's uh, this is-”

 

“Sweet turkey mush,” Rhett cuts in so Link won't mention milk again.

 

“Like baby food.” Link goes in for a second taste. “Less salty than regular turkey.”

 

They gibber about it for a while longer, decide that turkey will, in fact, yogurt, then move onto their next dish. Bovine Eye Yogurt.

 

“I _already_ hate this,” Rhett groans.

 

“Me an’ you both, brother. I mean the smell alone… _Gosh_.”

 

They get through their initial complaints, Rhett gives Link a tiny pep talk about the benefits of consuming eyes and other nontraditionallly eaten organs, and then they've both got a mouthful of minced eyeball and yogurt.

 

Link gags first, as is the norm.

 

Rhett is breathing hard through his nose in loud, humid puffs and it kind of amuses him to think it's similar to a bull, which is so fitting for the situation. He's willing himself not to gag. He's vomited while binding before and he doesn't want to experience that a second time.

 

Link lets out a croon of discomfort and Rhett retches deep in the back of his throat. It’s more like a gutteral hiccup than a genuine gag. He reaches over blindly for his vomit bucket but he can’t find it in time.

 

And then he really is gagging and what small amount of yogurt he dared to let into his mouth, now much more watery from his own saliva, is dribbling down his chin and Link makes a surprised and disgusted sound when Rhett fully spits up. Everyone on crew joins in with an “ewwww” and a few scattered gasps. Link giggles like he’s nervous.

 

Little strings of yogurt hang from his beard, which are quickly growing cold. They feel like slugs.

 

“ _Jeez_ , Rhett. Oh, man, hey, cut-cut the cameras here.”

 

A tiny stab of pain bolts through Rhett’s ribs and he clears his throat lowly. “S-Sorry, y’all, just give me a minute. Somethin’ ‘bout that one reall-”

 

“Ya ain’t gotta explain, Rhett, that one was _nasty_! You alright?” Link has a roll of paper towels and is already blotting one gently at Rhett’s beard. “Go down the wrong pipe or somethin’ or what?”

 

Rhett takes the paper towel himself and tries to scrub his face best he can on his own. “Must’ve. I always beat you out-out on the gross ones.” His heart feels tight and without thinking, he pulls at his binder through his sweater. He can breathe fine, it’s just not leisurely.

 

“Not this time I guess,” Link says, kind of smiling, like he’s trying to ease the tension, but his eyebrows are still cinched together above his glasses.

 

“Is it too early to call in for lunch?” Rhett asks, half joking, but Stevie responds with, “Nope! How about a 30 minute break and then we’re back on?”

 

Link nods. “Lunch sounds good. You good to get up or ya gonna spit eyeball on the table again?”

 

Rhett stands and inspects his tea, which seems to have been saved from contamination. “I’m alright, man, I ain’t dyin’. You puke up on camera all the time.” He takes a long sip of tea and the taste of bile is washed mostly away.

 

Link gives a one shouldered shrug. “Yeah, but… I dunno, you were breathin’ real funny. And yer eyes were even bulgier than normal.”

 

“Crew knows CPR, I woulda lived.” But in the back of Rhett’s mind he thinks about how terrible it would have been to have someone behind him, punching into his stomach, squeezing at his shoulders, while he was double binding. And they surely would have felt it, too, the material of his binder through the one layer of sweater.

 

He tries not to dwell on it too hard and follows Link to the door.

 

* * *

  


They decide on fast food for lunch and take a few orders from crew. It’s easy and quick and it means Rhett and Link have reason to get out of the studio for a few minutes and collect themselves.

 

Rhett sits in the passenger seat and lets his arm hang out the window while Link orders at the drive thru. Link reads off the list he has pinched between his fingers and they pull forward and wait behind the car in front of them.

 

While they sit, some new song Rhett has already heard approximately 6 million times comes on the radio, which had been dribbling commercials before. Rhett’s fingers twitch and he's going to grab the dial and twist it when Link starts goofily singing along.

 

They inch forward and Rhett can feel himself tensing up. His chest gives a gentle ache. A wetness forms against his bandages and he knows he's going to chaff if he doesn't get a chance to change at the office.

 

He should've called out sick.

 

They pull up to the window, Link quiets his singing, and then they're headed back towards the office with paper bags full of fries and sandwiches in their laps.

 

* * *

  


Lunch goes fine and during it, Rhett sneaks off to the bathroom to quickly and quietly change his bandages, and within that, give himself a breather. His nipples are two identical peaks. They're sore to the touch and when he prods at them experimentally with his fingers, he hisses through his teeth.

 

More proceeds in a similar fashion as lunch and Rhett tries his best to give decent feedback on each bizarre yogurt topping and none of them are off-putting enough that neither of the boys gag (Link coughs when they get to jalapeño and mango but there's no choking).

 

More is about done and they're left to decide which topping is best fit for vanilla yogurt when Link goes back to peanut butter and sea salt and he starts making content little moans.

 

“I swear, man, peanut butter - peanut butter - it just fixes everythin’ wrong in the world. “

 

Rhett is leaking again. “You think plain yogurt is what's wrong with the world?”

 

Link shovels more into his mouth, licks the corners of his lips loudly, and sighs through his nose. “Naw, but peanut butter sure improves it.”

 

Rhett is about to agree when a dollop of yogurt slips off his spoon and splatters on the front of his sweater. Rhett mutters dang and Link says, “Oh, whoop,” before pressing his finger into the mess and promptly popping that finger into his mouth.

 

Rhett gives him a wild look and Link just giggles and asks, “So, does peanut butter win this one?”

 

A laugh punches out of Rhett before he can control it and between wheezes, says, “Yes, Link, peanut butter wins.” He feels like yogurt was a mistake. He feels like he's going to lose his mind if he doesn't go home soon.

 

They finish up and Chase comes over to start cleaning the desk. They agree to edit from home. Everyone seems a little tense after what happened this morning with the bovine eyeball yogurt.

 

“I gotta hit the restroom,” Rhett says and hopes it sounds casual. He grabs his laptop and bag, but before he can make his escape to change bandages yet again (and maybe even give himself a squeeze to hold over until he gets home), Link chirps, “I’ll join ya. Too much soda pop.”

 

Rhett wants to die. In that moment, he truly wants to die.

 

There is no way he can situate himself quietly enough, even hidden in a stall, without Link noticing. And if he doesn’t change now, after the little sounds of food related pleasure Link was making, Rhett is sure he’ll soak through his binder and there will be a wet spot on his sweater.

 

They make it to the bathroom and Rhett sets his stuff outside the door before going in, and Link happily follows.

 

Rhett takes up place at one of the urinals and Link joins him two urinals down. Rhett finishes first and while he's at the sink washing his hands he stares off blankly askew from the mirror. He has to think of something or he’ll burst (literally).

 

“I gotta change-change mah shirt, man,” Rhett announces suddenly.

 

“Go for it then, buckaroo, no need for my approval.”

 

Rhett pauses. His bag is outside the door and he knows full well there isn't a spare shirt in there.

 

“Do we got any shirts in the studio?”

 

“Uh, I think? Check one of the closets in the back.” Link is washing his hands and Rhett takes a step back.

 

He exits the bathroom and walks briskly, ignoring his bag and laptop. The studio is empty, along with their shared office. No matter how long he’s worked on set, it’s odd seeing it dimmed and abandoned; it makes him feel like he’s some kind of Ken doll that gets set up and then put away after playtime.

 

He rummages around and finds one of his old sweatshirts, a mustard yellow color, and the relief sends excited tingles down his back. His chest is sopping wet now. Little beads of milk have begun running down his stomach, drying when they hit the fabric of his jeans.

 

He has to do this quick. He knows Link will come looking for him if he’s not fast. And Link won’t be discreet about it. With two cis men, what reason would there be on being shy about seeing another shirtless? They’d done it a million times before, sometimes even when Rhett was winding down a cycle, so long as he knew he wouldn’t leak during.

 

Rhett pulls his sweater off and carefully slides out of his binder, which is uncomfortably tight and moist and it smells strongly of skin. He unwinds his bandages and once he’s stood there completely shirtless, he balls the sweater up in such a way it hides the bandages and binder inside.

 

Casual. With years of practice, he’s gotten good at this.

 

Both his nipples are swollen, even more so than they had been earlier, cone-shaped and distinct. He can feel himself flushing red, looking down at himself, pellets of milk leaking mercilessly down his chest and stomach. He has never been this swollen before, nor has his cycle ever produced as much milk so quickly.

 

Rhett’s desperation is severe enough that he disregards his panic, his need to hurry, and gives his left nipple a satisfying pinch. He can sop up whatever small mess he makes with his already wet sweater, he just needs a moment of release.

 

His knees feel like buckling.

 

It’s better than taking that first piss of the morning.

 

He’s just gotten his fingers around his right nipple when he hears a door opening and following this, Link saying, “Rhett? Ya in here, bo? C’mon, man, I gotta get home, I got landscapers stoppin’ by t-”  
  
Rhett, in his surprise, drops his sweater, right on top of the yellow sweatshirt he has at his feet. He scrambles, but he wholly knows it’s too late, by the way Link has cut off his speech.

 

Crazily, Rhett turns around, his arms lowered to his waist, halfway through the sleeves of the sweatshirt, his binder and bandages and sweater strewn on the floor in front of him.

 

Link’s eyebrows go up and together and he opens his mouth a long pause before asking, “Am I interruptin’ sumthin’ here?” in a high voice.

 

“I…” Rhett’s voice dies in his throat as it tightens. He burns bright red, all the way to the tips of his ears, and he licks his lips anxiously.

 

* * *

  


“Okay, lemme get this straight, Rhett.” (It comes out sounding like _Rhutt_ ) “You-you produce _milk_ every month. Like, it just happens? And it's bin happenin’ since like, puberty?”

 

Rhett nods. “Ya got it, Neal.”

 

They're sitting in Link's car in Rhett’s garage with the engine off.

 

“And wh-whut? Your doctors just accept it? That a _man_ is-is _frickin’_ _lactating_?” Link keeps wrapping and unwrapping his fingers around the steering wheel.

 

Rhett feels oddly calm. Maybe it's the weight that's been lifted from him, now that someone knows, now that Link is in on it and Rhett can stop sneaking around full of shame.

 

Maybe it's the shock.

 

“That's about it. I mean, listen, Link…. weird-weird stuff happens everyday. The owner of Segway drove one off a dang cliff and that's how he died-”

 

“What the _heck_ does that have to do with-”

 

“That girl in India or wherever cries diamonds. Diamonds. Like, _whole_ crystals come out her tear duc-”

 

“Oh, _c’mon_ , man, you know that one was a hoax! We both read-”

 

“I'm just _sayin’_ ,” Rhett continues, raising his voice a little, not meanly, but sharp, to get Link to stop butting in, “ _odd_ _things_ happen all the dang time. E-Even science can't explain them. The sky rains meat and frogs and sometimes yer best friend makes-makes… milk.”

 

Link is quiet. He nods.

 

Rhett puffs air out of his mouth and fingers at the lock on the door. He needs to go inside soon. The front of his sweatshirt is blooming with wetness.

 

“Ya ever like… You ever drunk it?” Link asks out of nowhere and suddenly he's giggling.

 

Rhett stares at him, eyes bugged out, and then his surprise breaks into a startled smile. And then he's laughing, too.

 

The whole situation is so ridiculous.

 

“Would ya shut up, man?” Rhett asks between snickers.

 

Once their giggles have settled down, Rhett yawns. “Fer real, though, I gotta clean myself up.”

 

“Oh, right, right. Have a goodnight, man. Uh, just text me if ya need me.”

 

“Of course.” Rhett opens the door and grabs his stuff and stands there a moment, dumbly, before adding, “Thanks for like… ya know. Being cool with it.”

 

Link smiles over at him. “Weird things happen, right? Just gotta… gotta go with the motions.” He wiggles his fingers.

 

* * *

  


The next day, Rhett lets himself sleep in. He texted Link last night saying he'd be out for the day and vaguely described the intensity of the situation and Link had responded with understanding.

 

So Rhett, for the first time since his youth, sleeps in until 10 am. He sleeps in his boxers, not even bothering with a sports bra or a shirt. He wakes up with little dried patches of milk on his stomach and in his sheets, but it gives him reason to strip his bed and wash everything.

 

For most of the day, Rhett camps on the couch. He watches a handful of true crime shows (which probably don't help his general paranoia about dying, but they hold his attention) and orders two pizzas to his house.

 

He's ravenously hungry, more than he normally is when he's going through his cycle. It makes sense, that his body needs more nutrients if he's working double time to produce milk, but everything is heightened.

 

Even his primal urge to nest.

 

Rhett is on his fourth slice of pizza when he gets a text from Link.

 

 **link** : _hey man how you holding up?_

 

 **rhett** : _sore and tired but i ain't dying_

 

 **link** : _well that's good then_

 

 **link** : _anything you need? office was boring without you and i cancelled on the landscapers_

 

Rhett finishes his crust and rubs at his chin. Part of him wants to see Link, even if just for a moment, but a part of him also wants to be left alone. He feels sluggish and uncharacteristically affectionate and traditionally, when these feelings arrive in heights like now, Rhett isolates.

 

 **rhett:** _actually yeah could you pick me up some ibuprofen and ice cream?_

 

He hits send and silently curses himself, still looking down at his phone. On TV three gunshots go off in rapid succession.

 

 **link** : _sure i’ll be around in say a half hour what flavor?_

 

Rhett responds with “anything chocolate”.

 

He gets up and cleans his pizza mess then gets in the shower. If Link is stopping by the least he can do is make himself presentable, even if his lower back hurts and he’d much rather be curled in a pile of blankets half asleep.

 

He’s just finished a pumping session when he hears a car door close in the drive. Rhett throws on a black sports bra and a striped sweater and goes to the front door.

 

Link is carrying three white grocery bags and when he spots Rhett he smiles wide. “I, uh, I got some extra stuff. But I’ll put it away, you ain’t gotta help. I know where stuff goes.”

 

Rhett steps aside and lets Link in, raising a single eyebrow. “Oh? Whatcha mean by extra stuff?”

 

Link puts the bags on the kitchen table and starts pulling things out of them, listing them as he goes. “Uh, let’s see... Hot cocoa, some different… different kinds of tea, case of cupcakes, heatin’ pad, coolin’ pad, too, in case I’ve been misinformed about what, uh, what works best.” He glances at Rhett and gives a sheepish smile.

 

Rhett laughs softly. “Jesus, all this for me? I’m not pregnant, you know that, don-”

 

Link is back to rambling off what he’s purchased: “Some Gatorade, white rice, oh, there’s the ice cream. And I got advil, too, not just ibuprofen, ‘cause I’ve heard advil sometimes work better? Better safe than sorry. And I grabbed a bath bomb at the check out, you know, one of those little $1 ones, just ‘cause they’re fun sometimes.”

 

A heavy warmth rises in Rhett’s chest and he feels so appreciative and dumb. He knows it’s the hormones, but the stinging of tears pulsates between his eyes, in his nose. He clears his throat. “Thanks, man, this all- it… means a lot to me.”

 

Link beams and adjusts his glasses. He goes to the fridge to put the Gatorade and cupcakes away. “It’s nothin’. I just feel… well, I feel bad that you’ve been goin’ through this alone for so long. I feel like I owe ya some comfort.”

 

Rhett sits at the table and starts unraveling the plastic packing on the tub of ice cream. “I figured it’s not somethin’ you need to worry over. And ‘sides, I’m not alone. My mama knows. And I’m part of a study, actually.”

 

“Science Experiment Rhett McLaughlin?” Link hands him a spoon then goes to the pantry.

 

Rhett dunks his spoon into the ice cream and it gives way easy, soft since being bought. “Somethin’ like that. They study my ‘history’ at Harvard or wherever. I gave consent and I exist as like, a serial number to them.”

 

“You the only one?”

 

Rhett smacks his lips. If it were possible to marry food, he would marry this ice cream. “They study heart patients and the blind, but if you mean what I figure you mean, I’m the only male experiencin’ this, yeah. At least from what I know.”

 

Link joins Rhett at the table, armed with a spoon, and scoops some ice cream into his mouth. He hums his approval and Rhett closes his eyes at the sound.

 

“Yer gonna make me leak and I just pumped.”

 

Link startles and a flush creeps across his face. “Wh-Whut? My _humming_?”

 

Rhett opens his eyes, nods, and pokes his spoon back into the ice cream. “I told ya, man, I’m sensitive this time. Anythin’ will do it.”

 

A full blush has colored Link’s face and he toys with his spoon like he’s embarrassed.

 

“It’s nothin’- it’s not _personal_ . And it shouldn’t be _weird-_ ”

 

“Weirder than it already is.”

 

“Yeah, that.” Rhett swallows a mouthful of ice cream. “Babies do it, too. If I hear ‘em cryin’ I-I leak like a dang faucet.” Rhett assumed he’d be alright talking about it, finally talking about, considering how normal this is to him, as normal as pissing or breathing, but he can feel himself starting to blush, too.

 

“So if I started… started wailin’ right now, you’d do a little leaky-leak?” Link is giggling. “Ya’d start drippin’ if I-”

 

“Neal, I’ll kick you outta my house-”

 

Link laughs high and his head falls back, the lines of his neck drawn tight. “I’m sorr-y! If I can’t-can’t _tease_ ya about it are we even fur-ends?”

 

Rhett joins in on the laughter, a lot lower and to himself, because Link has a point and he’d rather Link joke about it than be repulsed or confused. And deep in the back of his mind, while he stutters on giggles and licks the melting streaks of chocolate off the back of his spoon, Rhett wants to keep Link around a while longer.

 

Maybe for his whole cycle.  
  


* * *

  


They end up on the couch together.

 

Rhett is dozing off and Link is on his phone, scrolling through Instagram or Twitter or whatever social media is keeping him entertained. Link, once recovered from his laughing fit, had cooked the two of them rice and for dessert they each had a cupcake.

 

Rhett wants to ask about cuddling, if that is a grey area for their relationship or if it’s acceptable because Rhett is cranky and needy, but he wills the urge down. _It’s the hormones_ , he keeps telling himself. _Link’s too squirmy to cuddle with anywho. He’d be a wrigglepot._

 

“You want me to go? You look slumped, bo.”

 

Rhett tries to sit up a little straighter, like he’s coming to focus, but the effort wields weak results. “Nah, ‘salright. Nice to… nice havin’ someone around for once durin’ this, ya know?”

 

Link smiles his puppy dog smile and nods. “I getcha.”

 

After a moment, Link asks, “Does it really tire you out like this? I mean, how have you managed to-to eat animal testicles and get slapped in the face with eels and all that when this is goin’ on?”

 

Rhett laughs a little dryly, turns onto his side, and bear hugs a throw pillow so it’s tucked under his chin, letting his long body stretch out carelessly, his feet in Link’s lap, who doesn’t comment on it. “People have their periods and still go to work and I imagine it’s a lot worse than this. I don’t cramp or nothin’, just get achy and stuff.”

 

“Hm.”

 

The curve of Rhett’s foot lines nicely with the subtle swell of Link’s thigh. He’s warm. Rhett wiggles casually, figures he can get away with it, and digs his toes into Link’s thigh a little deeper.

 

“I’m bein’ held captive, I see.”

 

“Jus’ fer a bit.”

 

The TV continues to play whatever Netflix documentary they had both agreed on an hour ago and Link looks at his phone again. Rhett shifts once more and this time his toes brush up against Link’s crotch and from the feeling, though slight, Rhett can tell Link is either incredibly gifted in his endowment or he’s rocking a semi.

 

Due to their very _open_ friendship, Rhett knows the latter is more likely truth.

 

He does it a second time and Link places his hand around his ankle, encircles it with his fingers. “ _Rhett_ ,” Link says softly, like warning (once again it comes out sounding like _Rhutt_ ).

 

“Jus’ playin’ footsie with ya,” Rhett replies, his voice soft, too.

 

Link let’s go of Rhett’s ankle and a quick, piercing panic fills him, thinking that Link is getting up to leave, but instead Link is shifting, leaning himself over Rhett and grabbing him by the collar of his sweater. “Gotta be awake if you wanna play,” Link is saying and Rhett is hauling himself up and then they are both kissing, a clumsy little kiss that makes Link hum a happy sound.

 

“Yuh, a’right,” Rhett says dumbly. He looks at Link a long moment, licks his lips absently, and presses his mouth against his in another kiss, which Link gives into willingly.

 

They’ve kissed a few times in the past. Once or twice in college when they were “figuring things out” and Rhett had thought it’d be funny to go to a drag night at one of the local bars and Link couldn’t keep his mouth shut about how attractive and confusing that was. A handful more since then, when one of them had a long flight and the other wasn’t going; when there was mistletoe on set that crew had put up for a prank (shock Stevie and Chase with a genuine kiss that they could say was them pranking crew back).

 

But never a kiss as passionate as this. Never a kiss like this.

 

Link’s hands are on Rhett’s hips and it makes him flush harder, makes him feel feminine in a very trivial and maybe sexist way, but he likes it and that’s what matters. Rhett leans into him and parts his lips. His hands are Link’s neck, touching down to his collarbones then his shoulders, palming at him like he’s squeezing fruit at the grocery store.

 

Rhett has only had sex twice during his cycle before. One was an ex girlfriend and he had just kept his shirt on while they made love because that wasn’t particularly odd. The only other time Rhett was hooking up with a man from whatever dating app he had downloaded at the time. They gave each other oral with condoms on and neither of them stuck around to cuddle. Afterwards, however, Rhett dripped milk for at least an hour.

 

Hands spread flat against Rhett’s chest and he moans involuntarily, trying to reel back in time, but still groaning into Link’s open mouth.

 

“Will It Milk?” Link asks in a low but cartoonish voice, trying his best not to laugh.

 

“Man, I hate’chu,” Rhett wheezes. He pushes at Link’s shoulder and Link, in response, squeezes his left nipple, getting Rhett to kick out another moan, shrill this time, bending down at his hips.

 

“Gosh, I wish I’d known ‘bout this sooner! I woulda been able to win so many games an’ challenges!”

 

“Th-That’s-This is sexual harassment…!” Rhett reaches out and pinches at Link’s own nipple, not twisting, but biting his blunt fingernails into the skin there and Link yelps, his eyes wide with surprise, and they’re both laughing now.

 

Link squeezes two good handful of Rhett’s chest even with him buckled over the way he is and he straight up whines this time, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from relief, from how good it feels, and when Link rests his palm to Rhett’s thigh, he can’t help but rut into the air.

 

“Oh, eager?” Link asks in a tinny, teasing voice. Link pushes Rhett back into the couch and Rhett finds himself being straddled by his co-host.

 

Even in the moment, heated and excited, both of them burning fast like matchsticks, Rhett can see the hesitation in Link’s eyes and movements. Link squeezes at Rhett’s shoulder gentle, like he’s asking permission, and Rhett nods, trying to bite down on his smile.

 

The closeness and pressure are fantastic. Link’s crotch is pressed against Rhett’s. Rhett’s hands come up from where they had been lain uselessly by his sides and grab onto Link’s hips and he thrusts unabashedly with a quiet sigh.

 

“Jeez, Rhett, you’re like a dog humpin’ my leg,” Link remarks softly. His hands are under Rhett’s sweater and snaking their way up to his sports bra, slipping under that without hesitation, and finding his swollen nipples.

 

“Careful what you s-say, man, you don’t even know whut yer gettin’ yerself into here-”

 

Link chuckles and pulls on the hem of Rhett’s sweater. “Whut, you tellin’ me you like bein’ called a _dog_ when yer actin’ like this?”

 

Rhett lifts his arms over his head and Link pulls the sweater away, tosses it aside unthinking, which is so out of character for Link, who sanitizes his TV remote and his trash bins, that Rhett looks at him for a moment in a kind of dazed wonder. His hair is falling into his eyes a little, coming undone from the uniform style he had it in. His cheeks are ruddied a light pink.

 

“I-I ain’t say nothin’, just that I dunno how _long_ I’m gonna last like this,” Rhett pants. Link is peeling the wet sports bra off him. “If you keep-keep touchin’ on mah-”  
  
“Touchin’ on ya where?” Link rolls his hips to meet Rhett’s thrusts and Rhett’s head lolls back so it slumps against the back of the couch.

 

“You know where, jus’ do it, if yer gonna.” Rhett’s hands hover over Link’s hips again, but instead he tugs at his button, pops it open, unzips the little track of silver teeth. He’s wearing green boxers with white trim and his dick is straining the fabric.

 

“Askin’ me to suck on yer _tits_ , Rhett?” Link asks, and Rhett has just wrapped his fingers around Link’s length, so they groan in unison.

 

“Yer _killin’_ me, bo.”

 

Rhett feels like he’s burning up. He wishes desperately that Link would get off him so he could get out of his jeans. His face has never felt this warm. He curiously jerks Link in his palm, his fist loose and experimental, and when Link makes a high sound of approval, he does it again, still grinding his own erection against Link, finding most relief under the meat of his thigh.

 

“I’m takin’ that as a yes.” Link swoops his head down and, still rocking his hips so his cock head pops out of Rhett’s fist, still rocking his hips so Rhett’s cock lines nicely with his thigh, he latches his mouth to Rhett’s left nipple.

 

“ _Lord_ ,” Rhett sputters, stary. His eyes prick with tears for a second time.

 

Link hums, happy, and pulls away a moment to say, smug, “Yep, he milks, that’s fer sure.” He’s giggling to himself and Rhett groans when his mouth is on his right nipple.

 

He jerks Link faster, the precum that had been pooling at his slit now smeared down his length, and the noise is wet and vulgar and it makes Rhett’s heart beat harder.

 

Rhett suddenly feels the light pinch of teeth and it takes him a second to realize that yes, Link is actually biting him, and then his cock is throbbing hard through his underwear, through the thick layer of jeans, and he’s cumming. He lets out an embarrassing cry and a few tratorious tears spill over onto his cheeks. His chest is heaving hard and he can feel the warm cum pressed to his spent cock, which isn’t cooling as fast he though it might from the warmth of Link still perched over him.

 

“That’s right, Rhett, lookin’ so pretty for me like that,” Link whispers and Rhett breathes a hot, humid breath through his mouth. Link is still grinding on him, almost near too much, and Rhett goes back to stroking him.

 

“You walk around like this all the time, huh? Full and achin’ and you ain’t never thought ‘bout lettin’ me try it?”

 

Rhett glances up at Link and he’s smiling and little pearls of milk are clinging to the corners of his mouth. His cock twitches and he huffs again. “I- Ah thought about it before,” he admits softly and he twists his wrist while saying it. Link bucks harder.

 

That must do it for Link because he shudders, his shoulder hunched tight and he forces his mouth down on Rhett, who eagerly kisses in return, and in the heated moment, Rhett can feel Link’s warmth roping over his stomach in thin trails. Link whines in the back of his throat.

 

Link kisses away from Rhett’s mouth, near his nose, then down to his throat, and says, in a soft voice, “That… escalated fast.”

 

Rhett closes his eyes. “Sure did.”

 

Link rests his head against Rhett’s shoulder. Rhett places his hands to Link’s thighs and rubs them soothingly through his jeans. “When I regain feelin’ in my legs, I’ll clean you up.”

 

“Mmmf.” Rhett doesn’t want to think about getting up, even with the gross feeling of cooling cum on his chest and stomach.

 

“Glad we found out if it milks. I was _real_ curious,” Link says, his tone amused.

 

“I’m sure it’ll milk again, bud, don’t even _worry_ ‘bout that one.”

 

And even with his eyes closed, Rhett knows they’re both smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> cheers, bro
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated, i haven't written anything for view in a long ass time
> 
> talk to me on tumblr @ficfucker


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